The Things She Says
by seaXdeep
Summary: A retelling of Shadowland, the first book in the Mediator series, through Jesse's eyes. CURRENTLY ON HIATUS. Sorry about this guys. I'm running a blank.
1. Chapter 1

**Well kids, this is my very first Fanfiction story. It's about time, I'd say. I've been on here for a while, yet I haven't gotten anything done… all I do is _read_ the stories, but now it's time that I write some stuff of my own. I've been thinking about doing The Mediator books from Jesse's point of view for a while now, but it's time to get to the action.**

**This story is going to be the first book, but the chapters aren't going to be the same as the ones in the book. I'm going to sort of morph the ending of chapter one with chapter two, so they'll all actually be pretty messed up. Bear with me.**

**Most of them will probably be longer then the chapters in the original story, because I have to explain what Jesse's doing when he's not with Susannah…. I haven't quite figured out what I'll do with him during those times yet. Meh, I'll think of something.**

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**The Beginning**

**The Mediator: Shadowland in Jesse's POV**

Chapter One

I was sitting at the window seat, staringout the window, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Everyone had recently left the house, the mood excited, and leaving _me_ anxious. From what I had heard while listening to some of the conversations the boys and their father had had a month or two ago, I had learned that two women were coming to join the household. A mother, the man's new wife, and her daughter.

Since then, everything had been complete chaos.

The room I was sitting in, which had once been the guest room, had been transformed. It was now very feminine, much different from how it used to be with its plain blue walls, simple white bed covers and curtains, and cream coloured dresser sets. Now the walls were white and intricately patterned, flowery wallpaper bordering all along the top of the room.

There was a glass-topped night table alongside the beautiful four-poster, lace canopy clad bed, and a glass-topped dresser had replaced the old, cream wooden one. Something I only knew as a 'telephone' sat atop the night table, looking a bit frightening in all it's pink-fluff glory. It made loud ringing noises occasionally, causing me to jump, so I had chose to sit across the room from it, on the newly built window seat. The only beneficial addition to the room, if you ask me. Which no one is going to. Because I'm dead.

I've 'haunted' this room, this house, for about one hundred and fifty years, now. That's a very long time not being able to speak to anyone, or even be _seen_ by anyone. Anyone who's not dead has no idea how awful it is to have only yourself to talk to (which I never did, even though there's no one around to call me _loco_ or anything). I suppose I could speak to someone, but that would be ridiculous because a) they cannot hear me and therefore b) they cannot respond. You try and speak to someone who's not listening. One sided conversations are not as fun as you may think they are.

The one thing that honestly annoyed me about all the changes was that not once, not _once_, had the age of this new addition to the household been mentioned. I had listened to an endless amount of conversations, but no one had ever mentioned any names or an age. It was quite obvious that the room was meant for a female, as the bed and the wall paper indicated, but the age range of this girl was quite wide. Because of the size of the room, the phone, and the bathroom that joined the bedroom, I guessed the girl could be anywhere from eight to late twenties. But then again, I was not up to date with the decorations of this era. I could end up sharing this bedroom with a ninety-four year old woman, for all I know.

I turned back to the window and kept my eyes on the driveway, watching for the automobile to return with the new arrivals. They had left a few hours ago, but one thing I _had_ heard was that these women were flying—yes, _flying_…. The things man has created in the last century never ceases to amaze me—from New York. New York, as I understand, is very far away, despite the new way of traveling.

I stood up and wandered around the room, examining—for about the hundredth time—the new furniture. I lay down on the bed, placing my hands behind my head and staring at the ceiling. Even _that_ had been painted. How irritating.

The loud roar of an engine interrupted my thoughts, and I sat up. The sound grew louder, and I heard the crunching of gravel. I got up and raced to the window, and saw that the car was pulling into the driveway.

They were finally here!

The car disappeared from my view, parking beneath the porch roof so that I could not see. I heard the slamming of doors and the excited talk of the boys and their father. I heard an older woman laugh, but not the voice of the new occupant of this room. I jumped off the window seat and went to the closed door, opening it just a crack so that I could hear what was happening. The front door downstairs opened, and there was the deafening sound of all the boys talking loudly and excitedly, the father's booming voice, the older woman's laughter and joking. But I could _still_ not hear the girl.

There was the banging of the front door and the rustle of plastic bags. The television downstairs was flicked on, and there was some clanging of pots in the kitchen.

"…come see your room," I heard the older woman say, presumably to her daughter. The stairs began to creak and they headed upstairs, and I immediately took my spot back on the window seat the watch them.

The door creaked open, and the older woman stepped in after the father. She was a handsome woman, slim and tall with nice features. I could just make out the form of the girl standing behind her mother, standing in the door frame. The woman turned and motioned to the girl. The girl hesitated and then stepped in, and I breathed in sharply.

She was very pretty. Beautiful, even. She was of medium height, and very slim. She had a lovely figure, and was wearing what I had learned were called jeans, that were form fitting, and black boots that added to her height. She wore a black leather jacket that looked smooth from wear, and seemed to fit her perfectly. Her long, silky looking, chestnut hair made my fingers ache with the desire to run my fingers through it, and her green eyes seemed had a sort of… ancient wariness in them. Delicate, straight features added to her attractiveness.

The girl walked around the room, her pretty eyes sweeping along the walls and bed and dresser. They finally landed on the window seat, where I was sitting, and her expression changed to one of distaste. She glanced quickly at the father, who was watching for her reaction to the room, as if wondering if he had noticed what she had, but he seemed not to know what it was that had changed her mood.

Perhaps she does not like window seats, I thought. If she doesn't, they better not take this out. I'll demolish her dresser if they demolish my window seat.

Her mother, however, saw the girl's expression. She sighed sadly, and then said something that immediately caught my attention:

"Oh, Suze. Not again."

I raised my head and looked back to the girl, wondering what her mom meant by that. Had this happened before? Did this girl, Suze, as her mother had called her, have a past of not liking window seats? Or was it something else that displeased her? Obviously it was not me, as she could not see me.

I felt like yelling, "Well? What is it?" It intrigued me that much. After one hundred and fifty years without the drama that had occurred in my family, I had begun to miss it just the slightest bit. I could deal without it, but having no life of my own, I often liked to enjoy the lives of others. And this life seemed plenty interesting.

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**Well, there we go. The first chapter. I'll get the next one up as soon as I can. I know this is short, and I'm sorry, but I don't want to add the second chapter in here, too. So you'll just have to wait! Ha ha HA. Now… time for you to review. :)**

**Disclaimer: Blah, blah. I own nothing. Meg Cabot is the author of The Mediator stories. And Jesse. Even though in this story, we all sort of get to be Jesse.. which is really cool, ya know?**


	2. Chapter 2

**And I am BACK! With the second chapter of 'The Things She Says.' I'm sort of writing this in between commercials for the Much Music Video Awards, and I'll try my best to edit everything after, but I apologize if there _are_ some missed mistakes. I've never been good at multitasking. By the way, did anyone watch that? Metric, the best Indy band EVER, won the Best Indy Music Video Award for 'Poster of a Girl'! They also performed 'Monster Hospital', a thoroughly _awesome_ some… download it or something, because it doesn't sound as good live…. Oh well. **

**Also, I just realized that in the last chapter, it said 'The Beginning' at the top. That was actually my original title for this story, but I changed the file name. I just forgot to change _that_. Sorry if I confused anyone. **

**I'd also like to thank my reviewers! I can't remember their names right now, because I'm writing on my laptop, which doesn't have internet… meaning I have to save all the files on a floppy and _then_ upload them. Pain in the arse. But I'll make sure I add their names for chapter three. On with the story!

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The Things She Says

Mediator: Book One As Jesse

**Chapter Two**

"Never mind, Mom. Everything's fine. The room is great. Thanks so much," the girl said to her mother quickly. I loved her voice. Velvety smooth and pretty, I was glad this was the girl I'd be sharing a room with. But despite her lovely voice, she sounded unconvincing.

I could tell her mother didn't believe her. She gave another sad sigh and said, "Well, I'm glad you like it. I was sort of worried. I mean, I know how you get about… well, old places."

Aha! So it was old places that the girl had trouble with! Not window seats. I sighed in relief. Getting emotionally attached to an inanimate object is not the healthiest of things, I know, but it's the only thing I _can_ get emotionally attached to that I can touch. For example, when they had removed the lamp from the room a few months ago during the redecorating, I had been heart broken. That lamp and I… we were always there for each other. And once upon a time, there had been a framed painting of a forest scene hanging in the hall just outside of the bedroom. The dog, that big, foolish excuse for a dog, had somehow managed to knock it off, and it had smashed to bits. I had haunted that animal for weeks, grieving the loss of one of my closest… I can't really say friends, can I? Closest furnishings, I suppose.

"Really, Mom," the girl said, trying to comfort her somewhat distraught mother. "It's great. I love it."

Upon hearing this, the man, who had been quiet up till now, began hustling around the room excitedly, and pointed to the lights.

"Watch," he said. Then he clapped his hands. On the lights went!

I watched in astonishment. So _that's_ how you turned those on! I had been struggling for weeks to turn them on without using my kinetic power. I had not been able to find any of the switches that I always saw everyone flicking on and off that controlled the lighting. How incredibly frustrated I had been! I couldn't help but grin, and I raised my hands and clapped. The lights promptly went off.

The man, who had _not_ clapped his hands, looked towards the two women in astonishment. The mother was examining the glass-topped dresser, and the girl seemed lost in thought. She turned to watch the man as he clapped again to turn the lights on, and a sort of pained expression crossed her face. She rolled her eyes, and followed him around the room as he pointed out other exciting features he had installed. The girl was quick to express her delight, and didn't look in the direction of the window seat again.

I sat back and memorized her expressions as the man showed her the silver television placed on the wall across from a chocolate coloured love seat, the stereo and sound system that worked amazingly (I should know… I often turned it one when no one was home… alright, so I danced some, too), the pink-fluff horror of a phone, and the little adjoining bathroom.

The man eventually ran out of things to show her, and left the room to "start the barbecue in honour of you're arrival, new step-daughter!" He grinned at the mother and the girl and then shut the door quietly behind him.

The mother turned back to her daughter and gave her a worried look. "Is it _really_ alright, Suze?" She wrung her hands in front of her. "I know it's a big change. I know it's asking a lot of you—"

The girl took off her leather jacket slowly and tossed it on the bed. I let my eyes travel down her bare arms, admiring her fair skin. Almost everyone here was tanned to a golden crisp, and I secretly hoped that this girl, Suze, never would be. What a fine sight she was, in all her fair-skinned, dark haired glory.

"It's fine, Mom," the girl said, sounding a bit exasperated. "Really."

"I mean, asking you to leave Grandma, and Gina, and New York," the woman continued. "It's selfish of me, I know. I know things haven't been… well, easy for you. Especially since Daddy died."

A death in the family! I was beginning to feel excited. Perhaps I could meet this man, if he had not yet crossed over to the other side! But then I stopped. If the girl's father_ was_ still around, I highly doubt he would approve of me being here with his daughter.

I sighed. So much for that. But the thought of the father maybe _not_ being around gave me hope, and my mood rose again.

The mother was giving her daughter a talk about "fresh starts" and things along that line, and I tuned out to watch the girl's facial expressions and reactions. From the way her look turned to one of boredom, I could tell that she'd heard all this before from her mother. The woman had switched to talk about meeting new people and being friendly. Then she spoke of treating everyone with respect.

Eventually, the woman seemed to run out of steam and stopped to look at her daughter, who stood watching her with slightly raised eyebrows.

"Well," the woman said, rising from where she had been sitting at the end of the bed. "I guess if you don't want help unpacking, I'll go see how Andy is doing with dinner."

Andy! That was the man's name. I'd heard it plenty of times before, but I had always fallen back into the habit of calling him 'the man.' Ha ha, the man...

The woman stopped at the door, and turned back to face her daughter with tears in her eyes. "I just want you to be happy, Susie. That's all I've ever wanted. Do you think you can be happy here?"

I watched, smiling at the mother-daughter moment as the girl stood and gave her mother a hug. "Sure, Mom. Sure, I'll be happy here. I feel at home already."

The mother sniffled and asked, "Really? You swear?"

"I do." The girl pulled back and smiled at her mother. What a beautiful smile she had! All straight and white teeth…

The woman nodded and left, shutting the door behind her. The girl stood at the door, as if waiting for the sound of her mother's footsteps to disappear. Once they had, she swung around to face me, and to my complete astonishment, looking directly at me, she said:

"All right. Who the hell are you?"

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**I know, I know! So short! But I want most of the chapters to correspond with those in the book. I'll try my best to make them longer, but having them shorter just means I can update more often! I've already got chapter three started. Plus, I have a thing for cliffhangers :). Although, if you've read the books, which I'm sure you have, you know what happens next. So then it's not much of a cliffhanger, is it? Anyways… let's have those reviews!**

**Disclaimer: The Mediator is by Meg Cabot. The only things I own of this story are the best things! Jesse's thoughts! Ha ha!**


	3. Chapter 3

**NOTE: I wrote all this on Tuesday, but lately FanFiction has been_ really_ messed up. It wouldn't let anyone update their stories for quite some time. So just pretend it's Tuesday. And sorry if there are mistakes. I've tried desperately to make sure there aren't any, but every minute or so, the stupid edit page keeps flickering and going back to the top. **

**Whoa-ho! Here I am. Chapter three is here! I'm _really_ sorry, guys, that this took so long. Exams started on Tuesday, and I've been stressed as hell. I had my English exam Tuesday afternoon, Math exam this morning ( ohmygod….), and then I have my French exam tomorrow. After that, ta-da! I'll be done. Then I have no reason NOT to update sooner.**

**All right, so the reviewers! Yes, the reviewers. You guys are amazing! So supportive, too. Here they are: **keikochan3, CamFan4Eve,r Celuna Cirrus, hotapps, Vegetarian 101, mediator-and-twilight-freak, Brooke Winchester, moira aine, Xthe.answerX, szabatka2, Sam's Firefly, Flyawaydreamer, Twilightworshipper

**Keep it up with those reviews, guys! You're great! And it always makes my day whenever I open my e-mail to see a whole bunch of reviews there. **

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The Things She Says

Mediator: Shadowland As Jesse

**Chapter Three**

If I had been able to faint, let me assure you, I would have. Upon her addressing me, I turned to look over my shoulder, sure that someone had entered the room—and somehow gotten behind me—without me noticing.

I felt another wave of shock hit me when I saw that there was no one behind me. Just the window with the beautiful view. I turned back to look at her, and saw that her gaze was indeed pinned directly on my face.

"_Nombre de Dios_," I breathed, feeling winded and shaky.

"No use calling on your higher power," she said breezily, moving across the room towards me.

I watched her, still feeling dizzy, as she reached for the pink chair sitting at her dressing table and swung it around, straddling it.

"In case you haven't noticed, He isn't paying a whole lot of attention to you. Otherwise, He wouldn't have left you here to fester for—" she stopped and examined my clothing critically.

I looked down at it myself. There was nothing wrong with the way I was dressed. It was _her_ wearing the strange clothing. Then again, it's most likely that the styles have changed since I was alive. But had they really changed _that_ much?

"What is it, a hundred and fifty years? Has it really been that long since you croaked?" She blinked her big green eyes at me and placed her chin on the top of the chair, waiting for my reply.

I could only stare at her. How strangely she spoke! "What is…. croaked?" I asked her, feeling uncomfortable under her intense green gaze. My voice cracked slightly, and sounded rusty even to my ears. Yours would, too, if you had hardly spoken for over a century.

The girl rolled her eyes at me, as if the word 'croaked' was something everyone knew. Or just everyone but me. "Kicked the bucket. Checked out. Popped off. Bit the dust."

I was, once again, staring at her, thrown off completely by what she was saying. What were these obscenities coming out of her pretty mouth? Bit the dust? I have most certainly not been biting dust. Why on_ earth_ would she suggest such a thing? And _bucket kicking_? Does she honestly think I have nothing better to do then go around _kicking buckets_? All right, I don't, but it is not as if there are any buckets around here to kick, anyway. This is really a bucket-free house. Set a bucket in front of me, however, and I'd gladly kick one for her.

She must have understood my incredulous expression, because she once again rolled her eyes. "_Died_," she said, exasperation colouring her tone.

"Oh," I said slowly, finally understanding. There were an awful lot of different ways to say died, these days. "Died." Instead of answering her question, I just shook my head. "I don't understand," I said, feeling very confused. "I don't understand how it is you can see me. All these years, no one has ever—"

"Yeah," she said, cutting me off. She sounded bored, as if she had dealt with this sort of thing before. Maybe she had. "Well, listen, the times, you know, they are a-changin'. So what's your glitch?"

There she went with her weird words again! Did this one mean die, too? That couldn't be it. She was asking a different question, I knew. I blinked at her, waiting for her to translate. When she didn't answer, I realized she was examining _me. _

She watched me blink, and then I saw her eyes travel down to my chest. I was wearing an open front shirt, and I wondered if she was trying to catch a glimpse of something. I tried my very best not to smirk, keeping the same blank look on my face. I watched as she leaned forward in her chair slightly. Yes, she was _definitely_ trying to see what was beneath the shirt.

"Glitch?" I asked her when I realized she wasn't going to tell me on her own. Her eyes flew back up to my face, looking a bit startled.

I turned a little and carefully placed one boot up on a pale-blue cushion, aware that the movement caused my shirt to open more. I had to fight a smile as her eyes widened slightly, glued to where my skin had been exposed just seconds before.

"Yeah," she said hoarsely. She dragged her eyes back up to my face and cleared her throat. I watched her steadily as she swallowed. Hard. "Glitch," she said again. "Problem. Why are you still here?" When I continued to simply stare at her, she groaned. "_Why haven't you gone to the other side?_"

I shook my head. Now her eyes were on my hair.

"I don't know what you mean," I said simply.

She tugged at her shirt and wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead. I couldn't really feel temperature to the same extent as she could, being dead and all, but I knew it was very hot in the room. And the clothing she was wearing looked too warm for the weather.

"What do you mean, you don't know what I mean?" she snapped, her mood suddenly foul. She pushed some of her dark silky hair out of her eyes and glared at me. "You're _dead_. You don't belong here. You're supposed to be off doing whatever it is that happens to people after they're dead. Rejoicing in heaven or burning in hell, or being reincarnated, or ascending another plane of consciousness, or whatever. You're not supposed to be just… well, just _hanging around_."

More odd phrases. This girl was filled to the brim with creative responses to everything I said. How delightful, I thought. At least she's not boring. And hanging around was a phrase I understood. I can't remember if anyone ever used it back when I was alive, but I've heard it enough times to know what it means.

I balanced my elbow on my uplifted knee, letting my arm dangle, and looked at her thoughtfully. That speech she had just made was rather amusing, and I couldn't help but tease her just the tiniest bit. "And what if I happen to like just _hanging around_?" I asked her.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and I got the feeling that being made fun of was something she did not like. Something she did not like at all. Her look was now hostile, as if she wanted to hit me. I held my ground, however. It wasn't as if she could hurt me, or anything. Ah, the benefits of being dead.

"Look," she said, standing up fast and swinging her leg around the back of the chair with the swiftness of someone who would definitely be a good fighter if worse came to worse. "You can do all the hanging around you want, _amigo_. Slack away. I don't really care. But you can't do it here." She gazed at me expectantly, her look hard and annoyed.

"Jesse," I told her, not moving an inch.

"What?" The hard look was replaced by one of confusion.

"You called me _amigo_. I thought you might like to know I have a name. It's Jesse." I watched her carefully for her reaction. Would she think me too forward?

She nodded. "Right. That figures. Well, fine. Jesse, then. You can't stay here, Jesse."

"And you?" I asked, ignoring her. I smiled. I couldn't help it. She was so pretty, funny, and fierce. The kind of girl you had to smile at, that you had to like because of a certain charm.

She was examining me again. My mouth, my teeth, my face. Her eyes traveled along the slopes of my features. "And me what?" she asked rudely, as if angry that I had caused her to become distracted.

"What is your name?"

She glared at me. "Look. Just tell me what you want, and get out. I'm hot, and I want to change clothes. I don't have time for—"

I interrupted her, acting as if I hadn't heard her speaking at all. "That woman—your mother—called you Susie." I gazed brightly at her. "Short for Susan?"

"Susannah," she said, almost automatically, and without hesitation. "As in, 'Don't you cry for me.'"

I smiled again. A pretty name, to match her pretty face. "I know the song." And I did. Off by heart, in fact. Back when I'd had a guitar, I'd played it every once and awhile, just because I'd always imagined myself singing it to my sweetheart. Sadly, I'd died long before that time had come. How depressing.

"Yeah. It was probably in the top forty the year you were born, huh?" Her voice dripped with a sort of friendly sarcasm, as if she was trying very hard to be mean to me, but failing.

I just kept on smiling. "So this is your room now, is it, Susannah?" It gave me a thrill to say her name. I loved the way it rolled off my tongue. _Susannah_.

"Yeah," she said, placing her hands on her hips. "Yeah, this is my room now. So you're going to have to clear out."

"_I'm _going to have to clear out?" I raised one eyebrow at her. "This has been my home for a century and a half. Why do _I_ have to leave it?" This had never dawned on me before. That I would have to leave. Where on earth would I go? I'd never tried haunting another place, but I was always more comfortable here than any other place. I couldn't imagine having to leave the comforts of… home.

"Because." I could see she was getting really mad now. Her tone was sharp, her eyes flashing, and her stance tense. "This is _my_ room. I'm not sharing it with some dead cowboy."

_Cowboy._ That hit me. Suddenly fuming, I slammed my foot back down on the floor—hard—and stood up. How dare she call me a cowboy! Susannah looked up at me, realizing how much taller I was than her. She did not back away, however. She held her ground and continued to glare up at me.

"I am _not_ a cowboy," I informed her angrily. I muttered in Spanish under my breath, too angry to think about what I was saying. In my anger, the antique mirror hanging over her dressing table began to wobble dangerously.

She shot a glance towards it, and then whipped her head back around to me, looking panicky. "Whoa," she said, holding up both her hands towards me. "Down. Down, boy."

"My family," I began angrily, waving my finger in her, "worked like slaves to make something of themselves in this country, but never, never as a _vaquero_—"

"Hey," she said, cutting me off. Then she did something that caught me off guard completely. She reached out and seized my finger in a tight grip, pulling it hard and bringing me towards her. She brought me close enough towards her so that I was able to here her hiss, "Stop with the mirror already. And stop shoving your finger in my face. Do it again, and I'll break it." She flung my hand away, and I took a shaky step back.

My finger tingled incredibly where her skin had touched mine, sending great jolts of electricity throughout my body. I went from hot to cold, hot to cold, hot flashes throwing me off and making my vision blurry. I felt my chest contract, my throat tighten, my mouth dry. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and goose bumps rose all over my skin. The room spun dangerously, all my senses turning fuzzy. My heart was beating wildly in my chest, threatening to explode, and everything felt distant. I was utterly and completely shocked, but in a good way. I had never gone through such a state of pure ecstasy before. All I could feel was her touch. Remembering it, everything happened all over again. She'd _touched_ me.

**_I hadn't been touched by anyone, never mind a _woman, _in over a hundred years_**

"Now look, Jesse. This is my room, understand? You can't stay here. You've either got to let me help you get to where you're supposed to go, or you're going to have to find some other house to haunt. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."

I didn't hear a word she said. I just continued to stare down at my finger, still feeling the great rush of electricity and adrenaline rushing through my veins. Her voice seemed muffled and distant. I looked up at her, into her beautiful green eyes, longing for her to touch me again. I didn't care if she wanted to punch me, or break my finger. I just wanted to feel her warm, smooth skin pressed against mine once more.

"Who _are_ you?" I finally managed to say softly. It was hard to concentrate with all the feelings running through me. "What kind of…. girl are you?" I hesitated before saying the word _girl_, because I was no longer sure if that's what she was. She could see me, and _touch_ me. Susannah was not a normal girl.

I guess my hesitation before the word annoyed her, because she said, rather crankily, I might add, "I'll tell you what kind of girl I'm not. I am _not_ the kind of girl who's looking to share her room with a member of the opposite sex. Understand me? So either you move out, or I force you out. It's entirely up to you. I'll give you some time to think about it. But when I get back here, Jesse, I want you gone."

At that, she spun on her heel and marched out of the room, closing the door behind her with a loud _thud_. All that was left was the faint smell of her perfume, sweet and intoxicating, like her touch.

Her last words echoed in my mind. _When I get back here, Jesse, I want you out._

Leave? I most certainly was not going to leave. Not permanently, anyway. There were a million reasons for me to stay. To hear her velvety voice, to hear her say my name in that smooth way of hers, to see her green eyes flash, her sweet lips curve into a smile, to hear the silken rustle of her dark hair, to watch her move around the room, radiating confidence, to see her glare at me, stare at me... and, of course, a chance to have her skin come in contact with mine, even if only for a fleeting few seconds. The list went on and on.

_Give her a little time_, a voice said in my head. _She'll get used to you._

Of course she would get used to me. She would have to. Because there was absolutely no way I was going to leave Susannah, the new occupant of this room, behind to wallow in her victory. She was not getting rid of me that easily.

I'll be gone when you get here, Susannah, I thought. I'll be gone, but not for long.

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**And that, ladies and gentlemen, was chapter three! It was longer, wasn't it? Did ya like that?**

**I especially enjoyed writing this chapter, because it is, of course, the first time Jesse and Suze talk. Exciting? Very. And it was _awesome_ to finally get to write down the emotions and thoughts that might have been going through Jesse's head during this crucial part of the story. Everything sort of comes to me as I'm writing it down, and it was _very_ fun to put myself in Suze's place. Jesse is a sweetheart. A 19th century sweetheart. I want him. So I guess I'll have to get chapter four up ASAP, huh?**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. Mediator: not mine. Meg Cabot's. Jesse: not mine. Meg Cabot's. She owns everything :'(. Except for Jesse's thoughts… seeing as I came up with those on my own. Hence the ending of the tears. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, so. I edited this chapter. I realized that I kept mispelling Maria's name wrong, and the sisters' names were wrong, and so I fixed it up a bit. Hopefully it's easier to read now. :) Enjoy!**

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**The Things She Says**

A retelling of Shadowland as Jesse

**Chapter Four**

I was, once again, lying on the bed. Now that _Susannah_ — I smiled to myself, loving her name — owned this room, I knew this would be one of my last opportunities to even get _near_ the four-poster monstrosity. I suddenly felt bad for using such a harsh word. It wasn't ugly, the bed. Just… a little overdone?

The furniture fetish strikes again.

Despite my century and a half of having no one to talk to, I was feeling rather lonely. I longed for some company (preferably Susannah's), but I knew that I was on my own for the time being. The time being and perhaps longer.

I kicked myself mentally. I should have been kinder to her. My behaviour had been most ungentlemanly. My family would have scolded me for treating a lady like that, if I was back in the 19th century, alive and kicking. But I was neither back in my time nor alive — free to kick as much as I liked, but not alive.

One thing kept nagging at the back of my mind:

How could she _see_ me?

Perhaps she had x-ray vision, like some of the characters in those films they have now days. But wait. Wasn't x-ray vision when they could see past things? Like _clothing_?

Oh _my_.

I flushed at the thought, embarrassing myself, and pushed that from my mind.

The second sight. That's what it might be. She can see me, and other supernatural, otherworldly things, because she has the second sight. But no. That doesn't make sense. She can see me, but she can also touch me. So then it can't be it, either.

I slammed my head back against the plush pillow. How irritating it was, not being able to figure out what she was. The least she could have done was _told_ me. But picturing her face again in my mind's eye, my anger vanished.

"Susannah."

I said the name aloud, enjoying the way it kind of echoed around the room. I said it again. Twice more. I was grinning, acting like a dog that's just been offered the most delicious, tender steak. Except I'm not going to eat Susannah.

Now I felt even worse. First insulting the blessed furniture, and now comparing Susannah to a slab of juicy meat?

_I'm going to hell_,I thought. Then I paused. I'd been here, a ghost in the land of the living, for an awfully long time. _Eventually_.

There I was, alone once more, and painfully aware of my dead-man status. It's times like these when I ponder my death — the moment that put me in the position I'm in now. To add on to the frustration, I'm not even sure exactly how I died. Well, I _know_, but the details are blurry and basically all I'm aware of is that now nobody (not including Susannah) can see me, the only time my voice is needed is when I want to talk to myself (which I never do), and I can walk through walls, people, and everything else I've encountered (which I _always_ do. Haven't you always wondered what it would be like to stand inside a wall? I used to, and now I know. It never gets old. Honestly.)

My death, my death, my death. I actually hate thinking about it, but now's the time I think I should go through it briefly (or not so briefly) for the sake of understanding. But, seeing as there are chunks missing (the memory has faded after so long), it might _not_ be understandable.

Right. Rambling ends now. The story of my death begins.

I was at home, at my family's ranch. I was outside in the barn, working with the horses, since our new mare, Belleza, was to give birth in a day or two.

"Belleza, sweet horse, stay still!" I fought to keep her from rearing, holding her halter tight with both hands.

For a fat and very pregnant horse, she was surprisingly strong. I was trying to get her into the birthing stall, so that her and her new foal would be more comfortable when the time came, but she was being stubborn. She did not want to leave her old stall, which she obviously had become attached to in the five days she had been here.

"Belleza!"

She lifted her head as high as she could, with me standing as tall as possible, and let out a loud, shrill neigh that echoed in the rafters of the barn. A few other horses answered, but when all fell still, she finally dropped her head with a low nicker and nuzzled my arm.

"Oh, that's right," I muttered as she obediently followed me into her new stall. "Give me a hard time, and then come willingly." I stepped out of the stall and shut the half door behind me, firmly latching it closed. "You and I, horse, are going to get along well, I see."

She stamped one hoof and then lowered her head to nose through her hay.

I sighed and turned away, brushing my hands off on my chaps and then moving to check on the rest of the horses.

"Jesse!" called a voice from somewhere outside.

I stepped forward and slid open the barn door, squinting at the bright sunlight that flooded into the dim building. I shielded my eyes from the sun with one hand and peered out over the field.

"Jesse!"

I shifted my gaze towards the house and saw my Mamá waving around something she held in her hand. It was a small white envelope.

"It is a letter from Maria!" she called again, clearly very excited and grinning from ear to ear.

"A letter from Maria?"

The voice was that of a young girl, coming from the front porch. One of my sisters, no doubt, but I couldn't be sure which one.

"Can I have it, Mamá?"

Marta stepped into view, and I swore angrily under my breath. I broke into a run towards my mother, and saw my eldest sister doing the same. I ran faster, knowing that I had to get there first.

Let's get one thing straight. I was _not_, in fact, running because I was overflowing with excitement at the prospect of a letter from Maria. Oh, no. In fact, I was indifferent to _anything_ she sent to me. But Marta loved it when I received letters from my bride-to-be. More than once, she had gone out to get the post and come back inside with one, dodging me and dancing around the kitchen, reading it aloud to my other two sisters. Sometimes Maria put the most ridiculous things in her letters, and it was embarrassing enough as it was. It made it ten times worse when my sisters knew what was written in each one. I had only managed to actually read two on my own, as opposed to my sisters' four.

"Mamá, do not let her have it!" I yelled, realizing that Marta would get there first, as my mother was standing closer to the house than the barn. "_¡Marta, esa es para mí!_" Yelling in Spanish always seemed to get my family's attention, for reasons unknown. I think it was because it was our native tongue.

Marta ran up and snatched the letter right out of Mamá's hands.

"Marta! _Esa es para tú no!_" Mamá snapped, reaching over Marta's shoulder to grab the letter back.

Marta pulled away, and raced to the house. I ran after her, now desperate.

"Josie!" Marta shrieked at the top of her lungs. "Des! I have a letter! To Jesse, _love_ Maria!"

Two of my other sisters, Josefina and Mercedes, came thundering down the stairs, squealing and laughing. I wasn't sure where my other two sisters were, but I was sure that they would soon come when they heard all the noise.

Marta moved to the side door and swung it open, gazing around the yard as if looking for someone. "Veronica! Elena!"

Well, if this situation further progressed, the entire female population of my family would be sitting in the kitchen listening to Maria's words.

With sudden swiftness, I reached forward and grabbed the letter right from Marta's hands.

"No!" Mercedes jumped to get it back, but I was much taller than her, and held it above my head.

"You are not reading this," I said firmly. "They are my personal letters, _to me_. Do you see your name on here?" I waved the envelope in her face. "I don't."

"Aw, Jesse," Josefina whined. "You're no fun."

"We only want to see what it says!" Mercedes piped up. "Let us just see it and then we will give it back to you." She widened her large brown eyes in an attempt to make me pity her.

"That," I said, pointing at her, "is what you said last time."

The loud protests of three girls was joined by that of two others, and suddenly I was in a yelling match with all five of my sisters.

"I'm sure those letters are intended for all of us!" Marta fumed, hands on hips.

I snorted. "Then why do they say _to Jesse_?"

"Actually, they say _to _—"

"Because who else would she address them to?"

"The de Silva fam —"

"But _her_ family is the de Silva family, too!"

"The postmen know the difference!"

"You don't know that."

"Why are we arguing about this? These are _my _letters—"

The noise grew louder and louder, until I thought I would go deaf. It was only a matter of time before my father walked in and stopped it —

"WHAT IS GOING ON?!?!"

Or not.

Six voices, five female and one male, fell silent in a split-second. Heads snapped around to look at my father who was standing in the entrance of the kitchen.

"I said," he began, "what is going on here?" A muscle in his cheek jumped, the way it did when he was angry.

I was the first to speak. "Nothing," I mumbled.

"Oh?" His eyes fell to the letter I held behind my back. "Nothing. I see." He looked to my sisters. "Aren't there chores you ladies could be attending to?"

At that, all five girls jumped into action. Marta moved to the wash basin on the counter to wash dishes with Mercedes right behind her, Josefina dashed out the door to check on the chickens, and Veronica and Elena went upstairs to make the beds.

"Now Jesse." He turned to me, eyeing the letter in my hand. "I suggest you take that and read it somewhere private where they _won't_ find it." I thought I heard a trace of humour in his rumbling voice, but I wasn't sure.

"Yes, sir." I nodded, smiled briefly, and then headed up the stairs, on my way to the small room of my own. I closed the door behind me and took a seat on the edge of my bed, opening the letter with careful fingers. It turned out to be a short letter, only a page.

I sighed and unfolded it slowly, not looking forward to Maria's words at all. They had grown increasingly more vain, and the spelling mistakes were as unbearable as being stabbed in the eye.

_Dear Hector,_

I wrinkled my nose at this. Not many people called me that. Yet Maria insisted, saying Jesse was nothing more than a nickname, and nicknames were childish. I'd had to bite my tongue hard to keep myself from informing her that spelling errors were just as childish as nicknames and twice as annoying. Even something like Twinkle Toes, the name of Elena's stuffed bear, was as welcoming as a soft, warm bed, compared to the misspelling of a word such as 'cheese' (which Maria had continued to spell as 'cheas').

Clearing all thoughts of misspellings of cheese, stuffed animals, and nicknames from my head, I read on.

_Our wedding is only a week away, and my mother is very exited._

Ahhh! Why did she do this to me? I quickly grabbed the quill pen off my bedside table and scribbled out _exited_, adding the correct spelling above it.

_I now have my wedding dress, thow it is not the one I wanted. It was inexpenciv and not as beutiful as I wanted it to be, but for you, I am sure it is fine. I am not working to impres anyone, as you and I are alredy engaged and therfor all other men can not matter._

I stopped. All other men _can not_ matter? How truly offensive! I sincerely hoped she had meant to write _do not_ matter, but I knew that she had written exactly what she meant. As handsome as everyone I met claimed me to be, I knew Maria had no desire to marry me. And I, truthfully, had no desire (and still don't) to marry her. So HA.

_I always did want a big wedding, but it seems that it shall not be so. It disapoints me, as we will not receeve so many gifts with such few gests._

I opened my mouth, as if to yell. I closed it again. I opened it again and fought the urge to shove the letter in my mouth and swallow it, so that I would never have to see it again. But then I'd probably get ink poisoning. My mouth closed, setting in a grim line. This girl, this cousin of mine, had nerves of steel, writing such vain words in a letter.

_Though the wedding will be less then extrordanary, I'm sure our honeymoon will be somewhat entertaining. Hopefully we are both in the mood for satisfaction—_

At this, I _did_ shove the letter in my mouth. Who wrote things like this in a letter?! Dirty, inappropriate words! Suggestion! Ink poisoning! I spat the paper out again, seeing with satisfaction that the rest of that particular paragraph had been smudged so that it could no longer be read. Good. I did not want to read the rest. Who knew what she might go on to suggest? I shook my head in disgust at the sudden images the question conjured up. Yes, I am a man. And I know, and knew then too, what most men desire the most. But of all the women in the world, Maria was not someone I would _ever_ want to share an intimate situation with. Vain, not very smart, and rude. Beautiful, yes, but hardly the sort of person I could ever find myself being attracted to.

With a deep breath to steady myself for what might come next, I looked to the next paragraph.

_I have also been thinking about our living arangements after we are maried. I have decided that we shall live in the city, becuse I am sick of these fowl ranches. It is practikly unbearible to have to live out in the countryside, and the farm animals are smelly and dirty. You could get a job in a factory in a nearby city—_

I felt my whole body clench. She wanted me to live in the _city_?! I stared at the words, reading the sentence over and over again. When it was obvious that my eyes were not playing tricks on me, I threw the letter to the ground in disbelief and placed my face in my hands.

_Nombre de Dios._ No, no, no, no. How could she even _think_ to suggest such a thing? She knew as well as I did, as well as everyone else did, that I was a rancher's son, a man born and raised with horses and cattle and countryside all around. I was the sort of person who thought that a short distance was a day-long ride on horseback. I called the village a days ride away loud and noisy. I thought the day was fast-paced and rushed when we had to move the cattle in from the south field to the north before the sun went down. The city? I would never fit in there. I could never _dream_ to fit in there. And if Maria thought I could, she was obviously delusional.

Later on, we ate dinner in silence. I had nothing to say, my mind filled with horrible images of crowded streets, poor peasants, the thick stench of bodies, the clatter of a hundred voices speaking at once, and clustered buildings. My mother tried to amiably engage me in a conversation about the upcoming wedding, but I could not bear to hear Maria's name without triggering the nightmarish images of what my future might hold. Marta casually asked me what was in the letter, and my reply was short. My father attempted to talk to me about the new horse, Belleza, but I found I could not talk about that, either. At last, everyone (except my other sisters who were discussing a young man named 'Fred' who was apparently very handsome and lived on the neighbouring ranch) fell into silence, giving up on trying to start a conversation with me at all.

That night, everyone retired to bed early with excuses of fatigue due to the earlier heat and sun. As everyone shut their bedroom doors with quiet good-nights, I retreated into my own room to think. I held the letter in my hand, pacing back and forth across the creaky floorboards.

It was obvious that this marriage was not going to work. Maria and I held nothing in common, had no similar interests. While she was simple-minded and interested in mainly fashion, gossip, and sitting inside during the day, I enjoyed being outside working, in the fresh air, under the sun, and reading whatever I was able to get my hands on. Maria saw the world as a place to simply endure, preferring her own sheltered life. I saw the world in the form of infinite possibilities, a place filled with knowledge and discoveries just waiting for me to find. I wanted to help people. Maria wanted people to help her.

A sudden thought sprung to my mind. If I moved to the city… Possibly, just possibly, I could train to be a doctor. I stopped pacing. Oh, how I'd always wanted to be a doctor! All those sicknesses out there, there was someway to cure them, I just knew it. If only I knew how to make the first step in the direction of finding a cure. Maybe the city would even have a college! A college where I could study medicine and—

My train of thought came to a screeching halt. I snorted at myself, at the sudden hope that had lit the tiny flame inside me. There would be no college. And even if there was one, a married man could not _possibly_ take the time to learn something as complex as medicines. It could take years, I knew, to complete school for that. It would cost money, too, lots of money. Money that I didn't have.

My shoulders slumped as that idea quickly evaporated. I began pacing again. I needed a different plan. Ugh! How frustrating this was! Thinking so hard to come up with a way to live a life with a woman whom I was beginning to _loath_. How was I going to endure her? I could barely read her letters without become annoyed. How would I stand to live the rest of my life with her?

I had turned off my light and lay down to sleep when it hit me. _Break the engagement. Call off the wedding._ I didn't know where the voice had come from, but it had shed some new light on the situation. Was it possible? Maybe it was easier than I thought to simply go to Maria and tell her that I had no intentions of marrying her. I rolled over on my back and stared up at the ceiling. My father would me very angry, of course. My mother would be disappointed. Maria's parents would be livid. I bit my lip. Which was worse? The wrath of my family or a life in the city with nothing to look forward to in life except a frustrating wife who was more interested in dresses then perhaps the fire that had begun burning down the house after she had accidentally knocked over a candle in her distress at not having a matching hat to her gloves?

A smile broke over my face. I could endure my family's anger. Compared to that scenario, I could endure anything. I could and I would.

* * *

**Jesse's death is going to spread over two chapters. :) Sorry. Now you have to wait for chapter 5! Mwahahahaha.**

**Disclaimer: I did not write the Mediator series, and I own none of these characters. The only things I have come up with on my own are Jesse's thoughts and the prelude of his death.**


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